


How Lt Havers Fell in Love

by So_Late_Into_the_Night



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Adorable, Autism, Autistic Spectrum Disorder, Button House, Cricket, Fluff, Gay, LGBT, Longing, M/M, Pining, SO VERY GAY, Sensory Overload, Slow Burn, Stimming, The Captain is Gay (Ghosts TV 2019), WW2, Yearning, acespec, asd, aspec, autistic Captain is a headcanon I will stand by until I die, autistic spectrum, cuteness, cw // body image issues, cw // very mild implied internalised homophobia, from Havers’s pov, gay as heck, implied demisexual Captain because I project, mlm, queer, slowburn, sorry they swear a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/So_Late_Into_the_Night/pseuds/So_Late_Into_the_Night
Summary: We all know how the Captain feels, but what’s it like from Havers’s point of view, serving under the man he’s adored for ages? You want to see them fall in love. I get it. Read this!·I wrote this in present tense, which I normally hate, but I think it worked out. Very proud of this. All comments, Kudos etc greatly appreciated!
Relationships: The Captain/Lieutenant Havers (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 75





	1. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havers has a glance at his CO in a training session for cricket and starts to feel things.

War has broken out, and Europe is panicking, but the newly-appointed Lieutenant Havers needs to keep his mind off things to prevent it from overwhelming him, so he runs a lot faster than the other men when they are warming up for their cricket practice, to give himself time to clear his head.

Only a few of the men take part in cricket. They call themselves the Button House Eleven, as Button House is the name of the place they have requisitioned for the war effort. They’re all staying in it. Havers and his superior get a bedroom each, and the other two Lieutenants share one between them, but the rest of the men, thirty five or so, are crowded in large sleeping quarters.

Havers is breathing heavily as he jogs, doing a lap of the house and its grounds in long, quick strides. He skids to a halt in the garden, where they practice and play, and pushes his hair away from his forehead. He knows he looks a mess when he exercises, but at least he looks a healthy mess.

The other men begin to catch up.

“Evening, Havers. You ran fast there,” says his superior, smiling a little.

His superior. His superior is a Captain, and handsome as fuck. He’s probably the most handsome man that the _very_ homosexual Havers has ever seen. Havers has been at Button House a decent amount of time, and only started fancying the man a few days ago (or only realised then, possibly), but the crush only intensifies with every interaction they have. And given that Havers is his second-in-command… well, the crush is pretty intense by now.

Havers gives a brief nod in response to the Captain’s comment. It’s a little curt, but his light-headedness is easily blamed on the speed at which he has just covered the distance around the grounds.

The Captain looks at Havers, then shrugs and starts his stretches. Havers wants to watch him doing his lunges, because it does… show off his legs quite well… but catches himself and decides to respectfully turn away to do his own lunges at the same time.

Havers is balancing on one leg and holding his other heel up behind him to stretch his quads, and the Captain is doing the same, when the Captain speaks again.

“What got you into cricket, Lieutenant?”

“Played at school a bit, and quite a lot at university. Magdalen Oxford.”

“Oxford,” the Captain says, and he nods approvingly. “That one is odd, though, because it’s said Maudlin but written Magdalene1.”

Havers laughs.

“I have always wondered about that.”

His heart is beating hard, as the Captain laughs in return. A tiny laugh, but far too cute for Havers to handle. Havers thinks that the Captain would probably hate to be called cute, but it is the truth.

He is cute.

He is _also_ quite… well, hot. Havers watches the Captain glowing with health throughout their training session. He has always liked a man who really puts effort into an activity. The Captain is absolutely awful at getting the other men to like him _normally_ , because he’s blunt and practical and also their boss, but none of them mind him so much when he catches the ball easily and gets a player out. He’s quite fast too, and he really cares about the sport.

The Captain has a slanted forehead when looked at from the side, and his hair is a lovely silvery grey. He has neat sideburns and a moustache. He’s acquired a slight tan from the sun since they all moved into Button House in November of 1939. He is tall, but not quite so tall as Havers, and his voice is very sweet. He likes rules and tanks, and does not like squishy foods, which apparently include bananas. He waves his swagger stick when he talks. And he’s kind. He’s so bloody kind to anyone who doesn’t treat him like dirt. (He’s often too nervy to be kind around the people who are mean to him.) Havers _is_ pretty much the only one who is particularly nice to the Captain, and it is sad, but it does mean that he gets special treatment of a sort. The Captain is civil to the others, of course, because he is gentlemanly, but he’s genuinely kind to Havers. He leant him a book on trench warfare and tanks during the Great War when Havers expressed interest in the topic in their first week, and barely seemed anxious at all to get his precious book back. He is the gentlest soul that Havers knows, and he is all of this while also being funny, good-looking, witty, intelligent…. Havers is smitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It is spelled Magdalen, but I wanted to make it clear how Cap was saying it so, yeah. Also it’s stupid as heck. back


	2. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An utter trope, but Havers is cold and soaked from the rain and needs someone to help him. Cuteness and awkwardness ensues.

It’s raining like a bitch, and Havers is rather beginning to think that he ought to stop and go inside, but soaked through or no he is going to continue bowling a cricket ball against the wall of the gatehouse until he can spin it properly.

He _really_ ought to have not worn his cricket jumper. Wool is a nightmare to wear in the rain. He thanks god that at least he is not wearing the long-sleeved one.

The thing about cricket is that if the ball is spinning in a certain way it is significantly more difficult for the batsman to hit it in a manner useful to his team. Havers wants to be able to do it. And if a certain Captain appears to be able to appreciate good cricket skills in Havers, well… when it comes down to it, Havers will do anything to impress him. He overheard the Captain the other day, expressing frustration that no man who was part of the Button House Eleven could spin a cricket ball well.

So Lieutenant Havers is outside, in the rain, chucking a cricket ball.

And getting a bit cold, if he’s honest. The rain has permeated every item of clothing he is wearing, his hair is a sopping mess of dark strands across his forehead, and his shoes are covered in soil because he keeps stamping his feet on the muddy ground to keep warm.

He picks the ball up for the millionth time, steps back, checks his grip on the ball, and bowls it. He is shivering, but the ball is flying through the air in a very distinctive way. It is spinning, just how he wants it to. It hits the wall with a satisfying smack, and falls to the wet ground again.

“ _Yes_!” he cries, and whoops for joy, looking up at the sky and letting the rain hit his face.

“Very good, Lieutenant. Now come inside before you catch hypothermia.”

Havers spins around to face the house, embarrassed to have been caught behaving so childishly, and when he sees it’s the Captain his cheeks stop suffering from the cold so much. There are many ways in which he could reply. “Thank you Captain but I’m fine.” “I practically already have bloody hypothermia.” “I do this because of you.” But of all the options, he settles for:

“It was very good?”

The Captain grins, looking at Havers from under his umbrella. He’s in a long Macintosh coat, with its collar turned up. “Bally marvellous, but do come inside. I can’t have my second-in-command wrapped up in bed for weeks on end with a cold we could easily avoid. That would _not_ do.”

Havers huffs, watching his breath fog the air in front of him. He registers how odd he must look, his cricket whites juxtaposed against the darkness around him.

“Lieutenant, it is nearly twenty two hundred hours. You must come in.”

The Captain is bouncing on his feet anxiously. After a few more moments of deliberation, Havers nods and picks up the ball.

“Fine. But I hope you saw my skills.”

He takes shelter under the umbrella and they head inside to the main kitchen.

“Good lord, Havers. You look absolutely freezing,” the Captain says, smiling. He folds his umbrella and leaves it on the table.

“You are correct, sir,” Havers replies, and shakes his head vigourously to rid his hair of most of the water in it.

“Come on, up to your room. I will fetch you towels and… whatever else you need. Hot water bottle? I have a spare.”

Havers nods gratefully. “That would be most appreciated, thank you.”

“Anything from the kettle? Tea? Coffee?” the Captain offers, and Havers wonders vaguely why the CO is being so attentive, although he suspects that even the Captain himself couldn’t answer that one.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink either. Usually I just heat up milk and melt some chocolate into it1, but I am fine, honestly.”

“I’m on it,” says the Captain, shrugging his Mac off. “Go upstairs and get that wretched jumper off you before it turns you into an ice cube. I’'ll be up in a minute with the cocoa.”

He flashes a smile at Havers, who nods awkwardly and goes up to his room. He puts his cricket ball on the bedside table.

It transpires that Havers cannot in fact take his cricket jumper off, because his hands are numb. He cannot even undo the buttons at the collar of his short-sleeved shirt. His fingers simply will not coöperate, because they have little to no blood in them. He is still sitting on his bed, fumbling at the hem of his jumper, when the Captain knocks at the door.

“Come in,” he calls, very quietly. The other men are asleep.

The Captain enters, holding several towels, a hot water bottle, and a mug. He puts all of the things down on the dresser, and closes the door.

“I told you to take that off,” he says, exasperated.

“My hands refuse to do anything, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Well, we must get you dry. Here.”

The Captain hands Havers a towel, and Havers tries to dry his neck and bare arms, but gets nowhere because his hands simply lack the strength. Easy to lose heat energy when you’re not energetically throwing a ball over and over.

Havers thinks it over in his head, then decides to ask. No point in freezing, anyway. He stands up.

“Sir, not to impose, but, ah… do you think you could…?”

The Captain looks at him, wide-eyed.

“You mean…?”

“Yes. Help me get this off. Please, that is.”

Silently, the Captain moves towards him. He puts his hands at Havers’s waist, gripping the jumper, and tugs it up, gently enough to do absolutely nothing.

“Havers, I —”

“Sir, just… just lift it over my head.”

Havers raises his arms. The Captain pulls the jumper off, almost peels it off, and Havers suddenly wishes that his shirt did not cling to his body so much when wet. He is very insecure about his body, and would rather the Captain did not see very much of the shape of it. Havers is not as strong as he would like to be, as strong as he can’t help but think he ought to be for his lover, should he ever get one, and should it ever be his CO.

The Captain puts the jumper down on the chair.

“You hardly need me to do your shirt buttons too?” he says, and Havers has no idea to what degree he is joking. It can be very hard to know with the Captain.

“Well, _I_ cannot,” Havers responds, daringly. He lifts his chin up in defiance of the self-hate trying to force its way into his head.

“Would it be quite proper for me to…?” the Captain asks, looking at him with his head tilted to the side. He looks hesitant but willing, and slightly afraid, though god only knows what of.

“It would not be proper for you to allow me to freeze,” Havers offers, teeth chattering. He can tell that the Captain is thinking hard about it, and so is he. He’s thinking _extremely_ hard about anything other than the Captain’s beautiful hands (rough from all the work he does, yet somehow soft and gentle at the end of the day… not that Havers actually _knows_ any of that, much to his annoyance) touching Havers’s shirt, helping him to remove it, and the potential that that idea has to play a part in Havers’s dreams.

The Captain takes a while to undo the buttons. His hands seem weak, and he does not look Havers in the face. He keeps his head bowed, looking a bit like a dog that wants to look submissive, to appear anything but a threat. The Captain’s mouth twitches in concentration, and Havers notices for the billionth time what fine cheekbones his CO has. And his moustache. _God_ , his moustache. Havers usually doesn’t tend to go for men with much facial hair beyond sideburns, but, well, what would be the point of harbouring an illegal and pointless crush on someone who didn’t break the rules a bit? Even if the rule-breaking in question is only having a moustache. Which is actually no issue anyway, as Havers loves the Captain’s moustache.

“There. You’re done,” the Captain says, and he hurriedly steps away from Havers.

“Thank you,” Havers says quietly. He pulls his shirt off, and manages to get his vest off, too (his hands are heating up again, which means there is no excuse for the Captain’s to be all over him, not that they were…). He expects to feel shy, shirtless in front of the man he loves, the man whose opinion means the most to him, but surprises himself by feeling confident. His body isn’t really so bad, and if the Captain gets a glance of Havers’s bare back and shoulders (and if Havers can briefly get over his hatred of the moles on his back) as Havers drinks some of his cocoa then all the better.

The cocoa is very good. Better than any other he’s ever had. It warms him, and not just because it was made for him by the Captain.

“What did you put in that?” Havers asks, turning to face the Captain, who is standing pointlessly in the middle of the floor with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Cinnamon and honey,” says the Captain, keeping his eyes away from Havers’s chest. “Was that… was that a bad idea?”

“Not in the least,” Havers assures him, enjoying having his shirt off. Perhaps it is the hopeful part of him making it up, but the Captain does look a little flustered, and pinker in the cheeks than usual. Which of course excites something within Havers.

He takes his shoes and socks off, then wraps a towel around his waist to remove his trousers. The Captain awkwardly turns the other way as Havers changes into the trousers half of his pyjamas, preserving his modesty (and sanity, because he _would_ implode if the Captain saw him in his underwear) with the towel. Havers pulls a new pair of socks on, his thickest woollen pair, and sits on his bed with his (well, actually _not_ his) hot water bottle.

“I’m decent,” he says softly. “Well, in a way. I have trousers on, at least.”

The Captain turns around.

“Havers, put the rest of your pyjamas on. And a cardigan. I refuse to let you catch cold. Honestly, it baffles me how someone as intelligent as you can fail to follow basic logic sometimes.”

“I’m not particularly intelligent, sir,” Havers says, buttoning up the jacket of his pyjamas.

“You went to Oxford.”

“So did you2. And besides, an Oxbridge education does not guarantee any common sense.”

“More’s the pity. Put this on.”

The Captain, who has been rooting in the chest of drawers, chucks a cardigan at Havers. A particularly lovely cardi, in fact: a dark green Aran Island sweater in merino wool, from Ireland3. It is Havers’s favourite. He puts it on and buttons it up.

“Sir, I can fend for myself,” he says, laughing.

“Of course,” the Captain says shortly. “I apologise. I should leave. Quite inapropriate for me to be here, especially at this hour. Please sleep well; use many blankets and the hot water bottle.”

He heads for the door, but Havers calls out.

“Hoy, Captain.”

The Captain spins around eagerly. Havers takes a shuddering breath, watching the Captain’s eyes, which are round and beautiful.

“Yes?” the Captain prompts.

“Oh, nothing. Just… thanks again for helping me.”

The Captain stays at the door, watching, until Havers is curled up in bed, under the covers, with the rest of the cocoa inside him, cuddling the hot water bottle to his chest. Then he nods and leaves.

Havers can almost imagine that there’s a person with him in bed, but the hot water bottle of the man he loves just isn’t as good as the real thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. We all knew he’s a hot chocolate boy. Oh, and try it his way. It’s so much nicer than with cocoa powder. back
> 
> 2\. And so did Ben Willbond. He studied French and Russian at Catherine’s Oxford, says Wikipedia. back
> 
> 3\. Aran sweaters are so nice. I love them. back


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men are heading to the pub, and Havers and Cap are fed up and turn to each other for company.

“Coming, sir?” Havers asks, poking his head around the office door. The men are on their way to the local pub, the Red Lion. The Captain is still hard at work on the blueprints.

“No. Thank you, Lieutenant, but no.” The Captain smiles awkwardly. Havers knows that the Captain almost never drinks.

“Come on. Have some fun, old man,” Havers teases.

“Old?” the Captain asks. “I am forty six. Too young to be old, but certainly too old to waste time in a public house.”

“Sir, there is not as much of an age gap between us as you think there is. Now get your coat. I insist you come. I shan’t force you to drink but you must give yourself a break.”

Havers almost frogmarches his CO to the door and out of it. They are walking some distance behind the rest of the men as they all head to the Lion, clad in long military greatcoats. Their breath is fogged. Havers allows his shoulder to brush against the Captain’s.

“Beautiful night, Havers,” the Captain says eventually.

“Yes, rather,” Havers agrees, speaking almost before his brain has caught up. He thinks for something to say. “Fancy a cigarette, sir?”

The Captain shakes his head. He looks rather sweet in the cold, his shoulders hunched up and his pink face buried in the upturned collar of his coat.

It _is_ a beautiful night, really. The air is clear and the stars are tiny lamps in the coarse navy cotton of the sky.

“I have no idea why you make me come to these things, Havers. The men don’t like me enough to care whether I attend their little evenings of drink.”

“What if I like you attending?” Havers says quickly. He feels every single muscle in the Captain stiffen beside him. His arms, hands in pockets, are tense and Havers can tell that he is ready to bolt like a fawn at any second.

“Yes, well, what if,” the Captain says, giving a shy and awkward laugh.

“No, I’m serious, sir. I like it when you come to these. I do not feel fully comfortable with the boys, and I appreciate your company.”

He’s really done it now. The Captain is a mess of red cheeks and shivering arms, and this time Havers thinks he may not be able to blame the cold. For the first time, he dares to let himself seriously consider the possibility that the Captain might feel something for him.

“I apologise, sir. I did not mean to upset you by being so impertinent,” Havers says.

“Quite alright.”

They walk in silence for a bit. The ground crunches beneath their feet.

“Have you listened to the new Vera Lynn track, sir?” Havers asks after a while, speaking quickly. “It’s marvellous stuff.”

The Captain clears his throat, like he always does, and then does something Havers never expected of him. He sings. It is very quiet and soft, barely audible, but he sings.

“We’ll meet again / Don’t know where / Don’t know when / But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.”

“God,” Havers says. His stomach is cracking hard in two, and the blood in his heart is boiling, splashing up in bubbles he cannot ignore. All of his inner organs are trying to tell him something. Probably that he is overly fond of his CO.

“I am sorry,” the Captain says, smirking a little. “I had no idea I sing so poorly.”

“No,” Havers chokes out. “You don’t sing poorly at all, sir.”

The Captain looks at Havers, who stares at the ground ahead of him, praying that the CO will not notice that his eyes are perhaps a little more wet than usual.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” the Captain asks. His voice is reluctant, as if he feels he ought not to acknowledge the existence of emotions.

Havers sniffs and nods, turning away with a bit of a smile. He is fond of the man. He knows that, but it is hardly a good idea to reveal the fact.

“I have a tendency to get teary in the cold, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.”

They arrive at the pub and order their drinks. Havers asks for a lime and soda and a shot of vodka, but the Captain simply has a mug of tea.

“Really, sir,” Havers says. The Captain shrugs; the two of them take a table in the corner and drink in silence. Not long later, the other men have successfully got themselves very drunk and are singing loudly.

“I don’t want to be a soldier / I don’t want to go to war / I’d rather stay at home, around the streets to roam / And live on the earnings of a lady-typist….”

“Rotten song,” the Captain grumbles. Secretly, Havers finds he has to agree.

“I don’t want a bay’net up me arsehole / I don’t want me bollocks shot away / I’d rather stay in England, in merry merry England / And fornicate me bleedin’ life away!” 1

“Good lord,” the Captain whispers.

Havers surreptitiously glances over and finds his CO blushing hard, so he coughs and crosses his legs, deliberately but awkwardly, his own face suddenly aflame from the feelings thumping insistently in his chest.

“You alright, sir?” he almost gasps. The Captain is so beautiful when he blushes. So beautiful.

“Yes, of course, Havers. Thank you.”

“What was ‘good lord’ about, then?” Havers asks. He is watching the Captain’s left hand, which is resting against the mug of tea. In an ideal world, Havers would clasp that hand in both of his own and kiss its knuckles while going down on one knee. He would thread a simple band of white gold, adorned with a small emerald, onto its fourth finger. And he would wind the Captain’s fingers through his own at every possible moment.

“Havers? Are you quite alright, man?” the Captain says. There is concern in his voice.

“Sorry, sir,” Havers says, zoning back in. “Golly, what happened? I must have started daydreaming.”

“You’re hardly a daydreamer,” the Captain says, smiling and downing a lot of his tea in one go.

“I might be,” Havers says, trying to sound slightly flirtatious in case the Captain is receptive to it.

“What have _you_ got to daydream about?” the Captain laughs.

“Oh, and wouldn’t you like to know…!”

“I beg your pardon?”

Havers grins as the Captain turns to face him, hand on the table, astonished. The Captain raises an eyebrow, and Havers finds himself blushing again as his head is suddenly — inevitably — filled with images from all his fantasies of cuddling and kissing the Captain, and dancing with him and kissing his neck tenderly while embracing his shirtless torso and….

“Yeah,” Havers admits. “Well, a man has to amuse himself, right, sir?”

“I presume the entirety of it is about ladies in bathing suits?” the Captain asks, scornful. He is stirring the air in his empty mug, with a spoon.

“God no, sir,” Havers says, smiling at the idea.

“Well, what is there to daydream about then?”

“From that, I take it that you think about ladies in bathing suits?” Havers inquires, winking cheekily.

“Lord no!” The Captain looks momentarily as though he is about to vomit. “No, nothing of the sort. Good lord, no. No. Absolutely not. Come along though, what do you think about if it isn’t… skimpy outfits?”

“Life,” says Havers. “I want to settle down with someone, buy a small farm cottage, live together. No need for any servant. We can sleep in a bed with simple cotton sheets and clean them ourselves when they need it. I can cook. I’m able. I want to marry someone and spend my days making cakes for the love of my life. Coconut cakes. Carrot cakes. Whatever my lover wants. And the sun will filter into our room every morning and illuminate me lying beside the person I love most in the world and I can just turn over and be hugged and fall back asleep.”

“God, that does sound nice,” says the Captain, who has just finished ordering a glass of gin.

Havers smiles sadly. “I have had quite some time to refine it, so I should hope it is of good quality by now.”

“And do you ever give any thought to the person with whom you would share this hypothetical cottage?” the Captain inquires.

Havers nearly chokes on his vodka as his gag reflex kicks in.

“I… I suppose… well, yes, occasionally,” he replies. He drinks the rest of his vodka and orders another. He is unable to count the number of times he has imagined wrapping his arms around the Captain’s waist and kissing him in front of their cottage as the winter sun sets, the both of them wearing cricket jumpers. Havers pictures how his nose would squish into the Captain’s face and the Captain would smile into Havers’s lips. And afterwards they would change for bed and lie together, snuggled right next to each other under a mound of blankets, and sleep until morning. Not without a few racy kisses in bed first, of course.

“And what sort of person would have the honour of living with our fine Lieutenant?”

“You consider me to be fine?” Havers laughs. He gives a nod of thanks to the barmaid who has just arrived with the gin for the Captain and the vodka for Havers. She leaves and the Captain speaks again.

“In a sense, I suppose. You are a very good soldier, of course. And any girl who gets you should count herself lucky to have such a fine young… such a strapping… a handsome officer such as yourself. Yes. Well, no. Not quite what I meant. Only that you _are_ a fine, a handsome… you know what, I might stop talking now….”

The Captain looks very warm and very, very shy. He is examining his gin and tactfully avoiding looking at Havers.

“I meant nothing untoward, Lieutenant. I hope that you understand that,” he says eventually.

“Of course. I understand, sir,” Havers says; he is doing his best to sound calm, but he is ready to pass out, because the Captain just called him handsome. “And to answer your question… well. I would love a person who is passionate and has a real interest in things. A person who can be a leader when I need to be led, but also talk to me as an equal. Someone kind, with a sense of humour, who likes me and can tolerate my constant talk of cricket. And it naturally must be someone beautiful.”

“Sounds like quite a woman,” the Captain says with a nervous laugh.

Havers shakes his head, smiling.

“If only you knew, sir.”

The other men start up a new song and both Havers and the Captain cringe as they hear it.

“Fuck ’em all, fuck ’em all! / The long and the short and the tall / Fuck all the Sergeants and WO1s / Fuck all the Corporals, and their bastard sons!” 2

“It is _supposed_ ,” says the Captain through gritted teeth, “to be ‘bless ’em all’.”

“But surely you know, sir, that it is inherently funny to swear,” Havers says drily.

“Sarcasm?” the Captain asks.

Havers nods, and they both giggle into their drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A genuine soldiers’ song. Technically from the first War, but I think the men would still get a good giggle out of singing it. back
> 
> 2\. This is a satirised version of “Bless ’Em All”, which I think Vera Lynn sang. Oh, and “bastard sons” is “blinkin’ sons” in the original. I found this version in the film “Atonement”. back


	4. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers. Confessions (kind of). Hehe.

The morning after the visit to the pub, Havers wakes up with a splitting headache. He groans and turns over in bed. He regrets drinking as much as he did, until he remembers his interactions with the Captain. Then he smiles.

The two of them went back to Button House before the rest of the men last night. Arms around each other’s shoulders and faces perilously close together, they walked up the drive. They leant against the wall at the back of the house for a bit before going in. They held hands.

They held hands? Havers frowns. But no, the memory is definitely there. The Captain’s palm against his own, skin torn a little from god knows what. Havers groans again, annoyed about having given himself even more to overthink. It’s bad enough analysing the Captain’s intonation every time he says “Lieutenant Havers”, without having to pick apart the meaning of drunkenly clinging onto each other at one in the morning on a Saturday.

They were pretty drunk, really, he muses. Very, in fact. Many men suddenly become a lot more homosexual when under the influence of alcohol. It is not unusual, but only a very tiny proportion of those men actually are homosexual when sober too.

Havers gets up, dresses, and goes to the officers’ mess for breakfast. The Captain is sitting alone at a table, so Havers takes the opportunity and sits beside him, to his right.

“Morning, Captain.”

The Captain nods, barely, totally avoiding Havers’s gaze in favour of staring at a piece of toast. Havers sighs internally, trying to decide if it is generic embarrassment over his drunken self or specifically about their hand-holding.

“Do you have a headache?” Havers asks cautiously.

“Yes. A terrible one. I’m afraid I haven’t been anything like that drunk since I was twenty one. Quite unused to it.”

“Drink lots of water. Trust me, it helps,” Havers says, handing the Captain a full glass of it. “If I may ask, sir, why don’t you ever really drink?”

The Captain sulkily pushes the glass from right to left along the section of the table that is in front of him and back again with a single finger, not drinking any of the water. “I lose control of myself when I drink. I spend the entirety of my sober life building up barriers to only let through the respectable parts of me, and if I drink I ruin all of that, invariably, because when I consume alcohol I have a tendency to forget my barriers. I lose a person’s respect. Just like I did with you last night.”

Havers shakes his head. “Sir, you far from lost my respect.”

“Well, then you must not remember much of what happened. I showed you aspects of myself last night that I never show to anyone.”

“I almost wish I could recall it,” laughs Havers. “I remember nothing that would cause me to lose respect for you, sir.”

The Captain continues shoving the glass.

“Well, I pray that you continue to not remember it, Lieutenant, because I value our… our friendship, somewhat. Unlike _you_ , apparently.”

Havers is taken aback and turns away, covering his face by leaning his head on his left hand so that the Captain is unable to see the tears already escaping him. His chest aches, and his ribs are painfully tense as he fights to contain his disappointment and hurt.

The glass is still creaking along the table as the Captain moves it, over and over, steadily.

“Captain,” Havers says after a minute, drying his face with his handkerchief and turning around to face him again. “I apologise for giving you the wrong impression. I would like you to know that our friendship is beyond valuable to me.”

The Captain scoffs, and looks at Havers.

“Nonsense.”

“Sir, I object. I have no idea how I have given you the idea that I am indifferent to you, but I assure you it is far from the truth.”

God knows it is. Havers would take a bullet for the Captain, or run away with him, or kiss him in front of their entire regiment, or do anything else the CO’s heart desires.

“You want to know what I am like when I drink, although I have specially told you that you would hate me if you knew. You care so little for what is between us that you want to know even though you know it will cause not a single word to ever be spoken between us again, outside of a work environment. Perhaps you want the excuse to avoid me.”

“It would take quite a lot to make me break off… what is between us. Unless you’re secretly a spy for Fritz or something, I hardly think —”

“Havers!” the Captain says. The screeching of the glass on the table is really getting quite irritating by now, so Havers puts his own hand over the Captain’s to indicate that it would be preferable if the noise did not persist. The Captain stills. He looks down at their hands together and gulps, before continuing. “Havers, I really think you would not like me so very much if you knew what I am like when I do not constantly make an effort to hide it.”

“Let me decide that for myself?” Havers asks softly.

“I don’t want to risk it,” the Captain says, very quietly. “You mean a lot to me, Lieutenant.”

“Captain, we all have things we would prefer to keep secret.”

“Even you?”

Havers thinks back over countless hours of smiling to himself over a single sentence from the Captain, of gazing at the Captain whenever he turns away and trying to figure out the exact shade of his eyes, of composing love letters in his head, of telling himself they would be able to spend a night together sometime, of sobbing and screaming into his pillow at night at the idea of the Captain dying in the War.

Havers nods. “Even me. If only you knew, sir. But my point is that unless what you wish to keep from me is illegal or something of the sort, then I would rather hear it.”

“I want you to like me, Havers,” the Captain says, but he sounds less certain.

Havers squeezes the Captain’s hand in his best attempt at being comforting and then stuffs both of his own into his pockets.

“How about I swear not to hate you until we have talked about whatever it is as much as you like? I promise.”

The Captain looks up, and the hope gleaming in his eyes is absolutely adorable and makes Havers’s heart twist inside him.

“Really?”

Havers is a little red in the face because of the Captain’s eyes, which are now staring intently at him (and are most definitely blue), but he gathers himself and nods.

They head to the Captain’s office to talk, and the Captain closes the door. There is only one chair, so they stay on their feet, facing each other. Havers clears his throat.

“Go on then, sir. Why is it that I am to hate you? Are you a murderer? A spy? A traitor? What is it? You scare me with the suspense.”

Havers smiles politely, waiting for the love of his life to speak.

“Nothing like that. I’m just a… a raving bloody lunatic.”

“Hardly.” Havers laughs before he can stop himself. “You are _incredibly_ sane, sir. That is why you make such a fine CO.”

“You consider me to be fine?1” the Captain asks, his voice cracking. Havers nods quickly, and the Captain continues, looking very uncomfortable. “With your permission, Havers, I could show you what I would be like right now if I was not covering it up.”

Havers nods, and the Captain closes his eyes, blocking the Lieutenant out. His hands go over his ears, tight, and his eyes tighten too. He rocks back and forth, mumbling to himself. His fingertips press into his head. He is muttering, and by listening closely Havers recognises that the Captain is reciting British Army ranks in order, from Private right up to Field-Marshal, over and over. The Captain’s head is bent over, and he looks agitated, vulnerable.

Havers touches his hand hesitantly. The Captain shakily takes his hands away from his head, and looks up. He is crying.

“Is this what every day is like for you? All the noises and lights and things? Is it too much?” Havers asks. He has known people the same. It is young children mostly who exhibit the clear signs like hands over ears, but the traits are unmistakable.

The Captain takes a while to answer. He is alternating between picking at the cut skin on his palm and wringing his hands desperately.

“Yes to all. And now I have acknowledged it I am suddenly unable to think properly. Everything is too loose and my uniform doesn’t press on my skin so much as it ought to and the light touches are horrible.”

“Is that all?” Havers asks, and he feels like crying too. “Your entire secret? You think I will hate you because you are sensitive to sounds? Am I really so awful in my treatment of you to have caused you to believe that I am that shallow?”

“Not you. But nobody does like me or respect me when I fail to cover it up. I would hardly blame you. I doubt you want a friend who screams and cries at the sound of gunfire despite being a grown man, and an officer at that.”

Havers can feel his heart splitting in two as he sees his CO before him, lost and broken, crying with his head hanging, and fully believing Havers would toss him aside him like that.

“God, Captain, even if you screamed at a bloody rabbit it wouldn’t make me want to break off our friendship, because… well... the love I feel for you is stronger than that. Would you like me to embrace you? Tightly? I can do so if you wish.”

The Captain needs a lot more reassuring but finally he steps into Havers’s open arms and clings on as tightly as Havers is holding him. Tighter, even. Havers strokes the Captain’s hair and keeps his hand near the Captain’s ears to dull the noise from the outside world. He makes shushing noises the whole time. His right arm remains around the Captain’s torso, hand on his waist, pressing hard.

“Was that really all, Captain?” he asks. The Captain nods, his face buried in Havers’s shoulder. “Oh, goodness. Well, what’s this? I don’t despise you.”

A little voice in Havers is telling him that it would be rather a good moment to kiss the Captain, but he does not want to ruin everything, so he settles for pressing a quick, quasi-platonic kiss to the Captain’s silver hair, just past his hairline. The Captain does not appear to have noticed.

“Lieutenant, please do not mock me. Perhaps you do not hate me. I accept that. But you are no longer my friend, I am sure of it.”

“Do you want my friendship?” Havers asks, his heart jumping in his throat.

“Yes. Very much,” the Captain says after a little time.

“Then you have it. Please accept it.”

“If I must,” says the Captain, and Havers can hear a smile in it. The Captain is being playful.

“There,” says Havers. “We got through it.”

“Yes,” says the Captain. He continues holding on to Havers.

“If it would make you more comfortable, I could tell you my secret too,” Havers says after a while.

“You have one?” the Captain says. He is rubbing the back of Havers’s lapel between two fingertips, and flicking his thumb along the seam at the edge of it.

“Of course.”

“I should be honoured to hear it. If you… if you want, of course, Lieutenant.”

Havers nods and takes a deep breath. He hasn’t told anyone, not since joining the army, and certainly has never told anyone to whom the same did not apply.

“I’m a homosexual.”

“What? You…?” the Captain splutters. He is suddenly clinging on to Havers much tighter than before, which means that Havers can see nothing of his superior’s face.

“I fancy men, yes,” Havers says. He is keeping his voice very low, lest somebody should hear. “Oh, god. Sorry, sir. That was innapropriate. Especially given that —”

“I don’t care,” the Captain interrupts. “About you being a queer, that is. And given that I initiated this whole… _predicament_ , I can hardly allow you to take the blame for this embrace.”

“It saddens me that there must be blame. I rather like this,” Havers says. He is shocked to find he has whispered it in the Captain’s ear. What wouldn’t he have given two months, two weeks, even two hours ago, for the opportunity to whisper things into the Captain’s ear?

The Captain nods in agreement, then tentatively poses a question, nestling his head further into Havers’s shoulder. “You said you fancy men. Have you ever… done anything with a man you fancied?”

“Kissed a few men at college, but not really apart from that,” Havers admits. His heart is going absolutely bonkers in his ribcage, and he prays that the Captain cannot hear it.

“What is it like to kiss a man?” the Captain asks.

Havers swallows. “It is wonderful. The first time I did it… god, it just felt so _right_. I have only done it a very small number of times, but I ache to do it again. In sensory terms, pretty similar to kissing a woman, to be honest. But for me, I kiss a woman, I feel nothing much, emotionally speaking. I feel like fainting any time a man I fancy goes anywhere near me with his lips.”

“Do you fancy any man in our regiment?” the Captain says in a hushed voice. He lifts his head from Havers’s shoulder so that their faces are close enough that head tilting is necessary to avoid their noses touching.

“Yes,” says Havers, although he barely has breath with which to say it. His heart feels like an engine, hammering madly with no end in sight. The Captain is avoiding his gaze, but that could mean nothing or anything as he does tend to do it anyway.

They get closer, incrementally. It is a matter of about an inch between them, and Havers is feeling, more acutely than ever, the ache to test whether their mouths really do fit together as neatly as in his dreams.

Eventually the suspense is too much for him. “May I?” he asks, very quietly.

The Captain nods.

Havers moves forward to meet him, but he does not surge or rush, preferring to take his time. He presses his lips to the Captain’s, leaving his tongue out of it. No need to complicate things. The Captain’s lips are chapped because he chews them incessantly, but the roughness is pleasant for Havers; he brings his hand up to rest at the Captain’s jaw. He is gentle at first, but brings more pressure into the kiss when he recalls that the Captain is averse to light touches. The Captain still has his arm tucked under Havers’s, and is still messing with the lapel as they kiss, bodies flush to each other. It is silent, and sweet, and gothic, and rottenly perfect. The Captain tastes slightly of blood and salt, and lets out a gasp when Havers pushes with his fingertips, gently but not too much so, on the small of the Captain’s back, which arches. With the gasp, they part, for the first time since that quarter-minute ago when they became joined. It’s a deadly situation.

The Captain backs away, muttering.

“No. No, no, no, no. All wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. All very wrong. Brigadier, Colonel, Lieutenant-Colonel, Major, Captain, Lieutenant… oh, lord, Lieutenant Havers. No. No.”

He looks terrified. His eyes are wide and he is twisting his hands together. Havers feels like crying again.

“Captain, please, I meant no harm. Honest to god.”

The Captain steps forward again needily and hugs Havers tight. The door opens, and they spring apart, but it’s just the wind. Havers clicks the door shut with his heel, and puts his hands awkwardly on the Captain’s arms.

“Am I the officer you fancy?” the Captain asks. His voice is wobbly, and has no tone whatsoever to it, even by his standards. He is looking at his feet.

“I could never answer that, sir. Not to your face,” Havers babbles, as his brain begins to process the fact that he and the Captain kissed, and his face heats up.

“Well. Thanks for the bloody crisis, Havers. Leave.”

The Captain is his firm, commanding self again, and if his eyelashes seem a little wetter than usual, well, Havers would never mention it to anyone.

“What?”

Havers puts his hands back in his pockets. Improper for an officer, yes, but that is far from the top of his priority list.

“Leave my office. Now. That’s a direct order, Lieutenant.”

Havers bows his head and leaves. He knows his head ought to be filled with their kiss: the smell of the Captain’s cologne (which had a very cute tinge of vanilla to it); the way the Captain shifted his hips against Havers’s slightly as he moved into a comfortable position; the softness of the Captain’s cheek, wet from crying, as he melted into Havers’s touch; and the Captain’s breath on his lips as they parted with that gasp. But all he can think of is the Captain’s vulnerability, and Havers wonders if he has ruined the friendship after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. A callback to the last chapter and Havers asking the same thing, and also, “such a fine CO” is what Peter Sandys-Clarke called the Captain on Twitter. back


	5. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually the first chapter I wrote. I wrote this in reverse chapter order. Hope you liked it!

A double bed, in Button House. A warm summer morning. The sun just high enough in the sky to come in the window without blinding them. And his Captain.

They professed their love for each other last night. Havers was the first to do it, to sneak out of his own room and into the Captain’s (with permission of course), still in service dress. To bolt the door, avoid the other’s eyes, and say those fateful words.

“I’m afraid I’m in love with you, sir.”

Then the Captain, bless his soul, stood there and stared disbelievingly. He ran his hands up and down his forearms. He was in service dress, but minus the jacket and Sam Browne, and with his shirtsleeves rolled up.

It is the morning after their confession, and Havers is slowly waking up with his head on his sleeping CO’s bare chest. They are swaddled in the covers of the bed. The Captain is lying to his right. They are both in underwear, and Havers wears his undershirt, unbuttoned at the top. Their legs are gently entwined.

Havers currently has no brain space for anything other than the muscles in the Captain’s chest. Havers watches that beautiful curved line that he can see if he traces down from the Captain’s outstretched arm to his pectorals, which are moving as the Captain breathes. Havers runs his knuckles softly through the tufty down on the Captain’s chest. He makes his way down to the calm muscles, protected by a layer of soft fat, in the Captain’s midriff, and lays his hand flat there, palm down. The Captain is strong; of course he is. As a hardworking military man, how could he not be? Havers is absolutely floored by it, though, because the Captain never, ever shows off his strength. In fact, until he saw the Captain shirtless last night, Havers had no idea.

The Captain was so shy about it, too.

“Havers, I know I’m not much, but, well… if you’ll have me,” he said, holding his undershirt and gesturing to his own body.

Not _much_? Havers can still hardly believe that the Captain thinks himself to not be much.

“Not much” made Havers feel faint with awe, and “not much” made his heart fill with pride at the effect of all the hours the Captain had put into their cricket training. “Not much” made Havers, who has never been one to be the slightest bit bothered about a man’s physique, realise that he can demonstrate his fondness for the Captain by worshipping that beautiful body in any way the Captain wants. The Captain is not superhuman in terms of muscle, but that is what makes the whole thing so glorious, so tenderly romantic. He is so stunningly _human_. The Captain’s body is more in Havers’s mind than something to ramp up his libido (it isn’t that at all; it does attract him, but that is not its purpose in his mind). It is a pathway to the man himself, a method by which to please him and love him and care for him. To take care of him.

There’s a little red mark just under the Captain’s collarbone, representative of Havers’s affection. Havers gave it to him last night. The Captain wanted it from the start, but needed to be assured over and over again that he would be able to hide it. He was scared. He still is scared.

He will be scared, later. But as the Captain wakes up, and sleepily gives his permission for Havers to kiss his neck, he is unafraid, and it makes Havers feel joyous.

The kisses are strong and poignant, and Havers buries them deep into the soft skin where the Captain’s jaw meets his neck. He feels the Captain’s pulse thudding within him from his jugular, under those layers of slightly tanned skin, and gentle fat, and sinewy muscle. There is a heat coming off it.

Havers still has his left hand on the Captain’s abs, and his fingertips are resting in the little dip between torso and thigh, created when the Captain bends his leg up, heel nearing hip, like he has now. His fingertips are comfortably nestled in the little dip which, in the shape of a V, leads to the Captain’s crotch.

Havers nuzzles his face into the Captain’s, smiling. He receives a moustached smile in return, and his heart skips a beat. He rolls onto his front, keeping his left hand where it is and bringing his right up to play with the Captain’s hair.

“Are you alright with all of this? Where I have my hands and everything?” he checks.

“Yes. Thank you, Havers.”

They kiss in silence. The kisses are brief, and firm (because the Captain hates light touches). Tame. Sweet. Savoured.

“Havers?”

“Yes.”

“Can you give me another mark? Please?” The voice is tentative.

“You want another love bite?” Havers asks. He leans back, taking no chances in terms of giving the Captain a fright.

“Yes. It makes me feel as though I am yours, and I like that. Just beside where you put the other, please.”

Havers is stunned. He gazes at the Captain hopelessly, grinning to himself, and then goes to mark the Captain.

He does it, and afterwards he is lying on top of the Captain, playing with his hair.

“Havers,” the Captain says, and Havers can sense the caution in his voice.

“Mm.”

Havers is watching the sunlight landing on the Captain’s eyelashes.

“I want to be honest with you,” the Captain says. “I — I’m glad we didn’t have sex. I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Okay,” Havers replies. “Are you ready for a kiss?”

“Yes, yes I am, but I’m not sure you heard me. I said no sex yet.”

“Roger that, Captain. Loud and clear.”

The Captain looks at him, a curious mixture of happy and apprehensive.

“Don’t you mind?”

“If you care for me, I hardly think I will mind about anything ever again. May I kiss you now1?” Havers says.

The Captain fidgets. His hands flap anxiously.

“I want to say yes. I really do.”

“But?” Havers asks softly, caressing the Captain’s face.

“I am entirely ready for a kiss in theory, but I am too bally scared in reality. It fluctuates. A minute ago I wasn’t scared, and now I am.”

“Is there anything I can do to show you, in a way that does not cause you discomfort, that I care for you?”

The Captain lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Hold my hand.”

Havers takes the Captain’s left hand — the non-dominant — in both of his own. He turns it over carefully and rubs his thumb along it.

“May I kiss your hand?” he asks.

The Captain nods, his eyes glimmering with happy tears. Havers kisses the back of the Captain’s hand. They are warm.

It’s bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. CONSENT’S IMPORTANT, KIDS. back


End file.
